If Stars Hold Our Destiny
by MaryJada
Summary: Her world knows her as Spider-Woman, but before she was bitten by a spider Gwen Stacy was a member of the up and coming rock band The Mary Janes. This is the story of Spider-Gwen's Mary Jane Watson, a very different MJ from Peter Parker's love, and how she formed the band - and how Peter's death and Gwen's secret life shaped them all.
1. Chapter 1

Mary Jane Watson found her first guitar lying on the sidewalk, half buried under porn magazines and dirty wife beaters smelling of Old Spice.

She was on her way home from third grade, her head held high and her gaze set on kill should any well-meaning adult raise an eyebrow at a child her age walking alone. No one who should know better would dare bother Philip Watson's daughter and besides, the streets held little fear. She knew every corner, every alley, every hole where her fast, skinny little body could squeeze through and leave whoever ran after her panting and wheezing on the other side. Luis at the bodega didn't even bother going after her anymore – he just tossed her an apple and juice box whenever she walked in the store. She would prefer a candy bar and a Coke, but she recently read that Gwyneth Paltrow swore by fresh vegetables and fruit and so Em Jay ate her apple. She didn't like Gwyneth, but she understood famous people had nice skin with bright smiles while sugar caused pimples and rotted teeth. The internet said so.

Em Jay was squeezing the last drops out of the juice box when she spotted the guitar. It seemed to glow in the late fall sunshine, the weak rays highlighting the silver strings and faded gold inlay. The neck stuck out of a pile of items strewn on the sidewalk as if someone had thrown them out of one of the brownstones lining the street. Em Jay was used to seeing abandoned property on her way home. The neighborhood had long ago seen better days and was currently under invasion from Manhattan refugees who hoped the better days were coming back. But for now, the newbies put up with the litter of crack pipes and the occasional basement meth lab explosion under the guise of "quaint" and "hip" and "keeping it real." Em Jay's family was part of the "real" the new residents claimed gave the neighborhood its character but they secretly – or not so secretly – hoped to displace.

She picked her way through the smelly used men's clothes and slippery magazines with naked women in them, finally wresting the guitar free. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She whipped her head from side to side. No one was looking. With more than a little struggle – Em Jay was not a tall child and the guitar was a full size Fender six-string acoustic – she managed to get it home and smuggled under her bed.

She couldn't keep it there, however. Philip Watson would eventually find it. He always did. And then it would be gone. Sold or traded or just plain smashed up because he felt like it and it made the others laugh and buy him drinks. So at school the next day, she pulled Glory Grant aside at recess. "I'm gonna have a band. Want to be it?"

Glory threw her head back and laughed, her braids bouncing off her shoulders. "You're not going to have any such thing. "

"Yes, I am," Em Jay insisted. "I'm gonna sing. And play guitar. And be a star someday."

"You're crazy. What do you know about playing a guitar? You don't have one." Glory didn't say it, but Em Jay knew she was thinking, "And we both know your dad won't buy you one, either."

"Yes, I do." Em Jay tugged Glory closer so she could whisper in her ear. "I do so have a guitar. And if you want to be in my band, you get to keep it at your house." She stepped and nodded once, emphatically. "What do you think?"

Em Jay knew Glory's apartment wasn't much bigger than hers, and Glory had to share a bedroom with her baby sister Sondra. But the guitar would be safe there. Glory had been wearing to school the gold cross they each got for First Communion for MONTHS now. Em Jay couldn't find her necklace three days after the ceremony. Her father told her she must have misplaced it and to be more careful with her things, but she knew she carefully put it on her bedside table when she went to sleep and it was gone when she woke up. She felt so bad, she stopped going to church with Glory even though she liked the fruit punch and cookies they served after all the talking. But the fact Glory still had her cross meant although her house wasn't the perfect solution – Em Jay wouldn't be able to practice as much as she hoped to - it had to be better than trusting the guitar to under Em Jay's bed.

"I don't think you have any such thing, Mary Jane Watson," Glory said with a toss of her chin. "I'm not falling for another one of your stories."

"What if I bring it to your house after school and prove it?" Em Jay licked her lips, and rubbed her suddenly damp palms on her jeans. She would die if she couldn't keep the guitar. Just die. She never wanted anything more in her life. She didn't believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny never brought her anything but music – music could make the rest of the world disappear, if she concentrated hard enough on the beat and the words. "Will you be in the band then?"

Glory pursed her lips and gave Em Jay a sideways glance. "Sure. Show me your guitar and I'm in. Can I play guitar, too?"

Em Jay shut her eyes. She hadn't thought that far ahead. They flew open as the perfect idea occurred to her. "Your mom! She plays the organ at St. Anne's sometimes, right?"

"Yeah…." Glory said slowly. "When the regular organist is sick. But I hate the organ. Too wheezy. Makes my ears hurt."

"But all bands have…what do you call them, the guys who plays, like, the piano, right?"

Glory shook her head. "No way," she said, her hands balled on her hips. "Everyone knows the guitar player is the best player in a band."

"That's not true!" Em Jay insisted, although deep down she was sure Glory was right. But the guitar was HERS, dammit. She found it. She would learn it. Somehow. "Everyone's important in a band. We need a piano person. And an organ is like a piano. You have someone who can show you how to play!" A charge of electricity ran up her spine. She only asked Glory to be in a band so she could keep the guitar at the Grant home – but maybe this would really work. Maybe they could be a real band! She grinned and grabbed Glory's hands, jumping up and down. "It's meant to be!"

Glory kept her feet on the ground, rolling her eyes and letting out a theatrical sigh. "Fine. I'll ask my mom to start teaching me. But you owe me, big time." Then she smiled, an ear-stretching grin. "We're really gonna be in a band?"

"We really, truly are!" Em Jay promised, and she hugged her best friend tight.


	2. Chapter 2

The knocking on the front door started again. Em Jay could hear it from her bed, the faded floral sheets pulled high and tight over her head. She counted to ninety, adding "Mississippi" between each number. Usually whoever was at the door would go away by the time she finished.

But when she reached the last number, she could still hear the knocking. She squeezed her eyes shut. If only she had her guitar to make the sound go away! She could play lots of songs now. She rubbed her thumbs over the pads of her fingers, the calluses oddly reassuring. Forming the chords originally made her hands hurt and her fingers numb, but now they came to her as easy and natural as breathing. But the guitar was at St. Anne's, locked safely in the small basement room set aside by Father Reinaldo for the church's youth music program.

Mrs. Grant had practically exploded with excitement when Glory asked for organ lessons, but her grin faded when Em Jay announced they were forming a rock and roll band. Almost before Em Jay finished speaking, the two girls found themselves visiting St. Anne's twice a week for music instruction. Most of the kids in the after school program had more enthusiasm than talent and new faces were constantly appearing as old ones disappeared, but Em Jay wouldn't miss the lessons for anything. She even dragged herself to the church when the school nurse sent her home from fourth grade with a fever of one hundred and two. Now, two years after she started, she was being asked to play solos during youth masses-

"Mary Jane? Mary Jane Watson, if you are in there, open the door. Now." The firm male voice came loud and clear from behind the thick front door. The knocking started again. "We will break down the door if you don't answer it."

Break her door? No! She untangled herself from the sheets and ran to the front room. She put her hands on the front door, bracing it against potential harm. "Go away!" she cried. "When my dad gets home, he'll be so mad if the door is broken."

The knocking stopped. "Mary Jane," said the male voice, lower now. Kinder. "Please open the door. I'd like to talk to you, face to face, if that's okay."

"I can't open the door to strangers," she called back. "Go away." She wondered who had the kind male voice. It wasn't Boyle the landlord. His voice sounded like a bucket of rusty nails, scratchy and unpleasant. And it wasn't any of her father's friends. She knew their voices, both sober and drunk. Maybe it was just another bill collector. "My dad's not home," she said. "I swear, he's not." Usually the collectors went away when they realized their prey wasn't in the house.

She heard a low sigh. Almost sad. "I know your dad's not there, Mary Jane. And you're smart, not opening the door to strangers. But I'm not a stranger. I'm a policeman."

A policeman? Em Jay's heartbeat thumped in her ears, a pound-pound-pound like the timpani drum someone recently donated to St. Anne's. She stood on tiptoe and looked through the peephole. The image was grimy and distorted, but it really did look like there were two police officers, one male, one female, standing in the dingy hallway. The light from the bare light bulb overhead bounced off their shiny badges. Still, if her dad taught her anything, it was never let herself be fooled. Trust was a sucker's game. "Can I see your identification?" she called.

The man chuckled. He bent down, and Em Jay stepped back as something small and flat slid under the door. She picked it up.

"NYPD Police Officer Stacy" she read aloud. She turned back to the door. "You have a girl's name," she said.

He laughed again. It was a warm sound. Against her better judgment, Em Jay started to like him. Or at least his laugh. "That's what my daughter says. She's about your age. But my first name is George. You can call me that if you like. Can I come in now?"

Her hands shook as she undid the chains and turned the locks. She couldn't control the movement. Why was a policeman here? Was something…was something…she couldn't finish the thoughts.

She opened the door and stepped back, her arms wrapped tight around her chest. Officer Stacy stepped across the threshold. He kept his gaze locked on hers, but she was sure he saw everything: the stained couch in front of the television as old as she was, the peeling wallpaper, the worn wood floors no amount of sweeping seemed to keep clean. At least Walentyna next door hadn't begun cooking yet, so only a hint of garlic and cabbage remained in the air.

The policeman was taller than her dad, but most men were. Where her dad was rail thin, Officer Stacy was filled out. Solid. Her dad gave the impression that he might jump away at any minute. He twitched, even when watching TV. Officer Stacy stood still, his feet firmly planted. But she got the impression that he could move fast when he wanted.

She met his gaze with her chin lifted, her lips pursed tightly together. He smiled at her and held out his hand. "Can we sit down?" he asked gently.

Em Jay shook her head. "No. Go ahead and tell me whatever you're here to tell me." She heard her voice tremble, and she swallowed, hoping to make it go away. She failed. "It's my dad, isn't it."

"He's been arrested," Officer Stacy said gently. "Last night. We would have been here sooner, but we didn't know you were by yourself."

By herself? She was always by herself. It was the rare occasion when her dad was present when she went to sleep and when she work up. It was usually one or the other, and recently neither. She took a deep breath, her racing heartbeat starting to slow. An arrest, sure, that wasn't great. But it was better than...she couldn't finish the thought. She shrugged at the policeman. "Okay. So is he coming home soon?"

Officer Stacy shook his head. "No. I'm afraid we've been looking for him for quite some time. He's going to stay with us for a while."

Em Jay's shaking intensified, but she kept her gaze steady on his. "Sure. Fine." She did a quick mental inventory. There was still half a jar of peanut butter left. The bread was going stale, but if the toaster oven cooperated – and the power stayed on - she could still toast it. She'd gotten by on less before.

The female officer had stayed silent in the background, but now she pushed forward. "Mary Jane? My name is Officer Hill. I'm here to collect you. We're going someplace safe, don't worry." She reached out a slender hand, her dark blue gaze open and friendly.

Em Jay shrank back. Officer Hill smelled fresh, and clean, like clothes taken straight out of a dryer. As the policewoman moved closer, Em Jay caught an underlying hint of roses, the fragrance sweet but not cloying. In short, the woman smelled like Before.

Em Jay avoided all reminders of Before.

And no one was taking her anywhere. It might not be the nicest home, but it was HERS. Her gaze darted between the two officers. If she moved fast enough, she would be able to squeeze in between them before they knew what she was doing, and escape out the front door.

She sprang toward freedom, but Officer Stacy grabbed her shoulder from behind before she took another step. She tried to squirm free, but his grip couldn't be budged. "Let me go!" she cried, flailing her arms. It was like trying to punch a brick wall. He didn't even grunt when her fists connected with his stomach. "Let go of me!" She started to sob, loudly, big fat tears running down her cheeks. Adults usually did what she wanted when she cried, she'd learned. They felt sorry for her or something.

Officer Hill's forehead creased with concern and she bent down as if to take Em Jay in her arms. "Don't cry, Mary Jane, it's going to be okay." Em Jay watched her through a teary but narrowed gaze. It would be even easier to get past Officer Hill if she knelt down. Em Jay sniffed and hung her head, allowing her shoulders to collapse as if she was giving up.

Officer Stacy, however, only tightened his fingers. He shook his head at Officer Hill, who slowly rose to her feet. "I know this is scary for you, Mary Jane," he said. "But you need to come with us. Running away only delays the inevitable."

Em Jay gave up on the tears. "You can't hold my father forever, you know," she said to Officer Stacy. "He'll be home within twenty four hours. He has his rights," she recited.

"Not this time, kid. I'm sorry." Officer Stacy's grip relaxed, but he kept his hand on her shoulder as he came around to stand in front of her. "Do you who the Kingpin is?"

She shook her head. "No. Never heard of him." Except when her dad thought she was asleep or busy with homework, that was. Philip Watson never did know how to keep his voice down.

"He's hurt a lot of people. He controls the drug trade, prostitution, and illegal gambling for this neighborhood, and most of New York City." Officer Stacy spoke to her like she was an adult. Em Jay respected him for that.

"Okay," she said. "But what does have to do with my dad?" She kept her chin raised, but the trembling was back, worse than before. She couldn't meet Officer Stacy's gaze.

"Your dad works for him," he said plainly. "I want to stop the Kingpin. So either your dad now works for me and helps me bring down the Kingpin, or he is going to jail for a very, very long time. Either way, he can't come back here. Do you understand?"

Any hope of seeing her father soon disappeared, like a balloon meeting a sharp object. She stared back at Officer Stacy, pressing her lips together as tight as they would go. She nodded once.

"Good girl." He let go of her shoulder and turned to Officer Hill. "Maria, you take Mary Jane to Children's Services then meet me back here when the detectiv—"

"No." Em Jay said firmly.

"I'm sorry?" Officer Stacy turned to her. "We just discussed this."

"I'm not going with her," and Em Jay pointed at Officer Hill. "I'm staying with you."

"Mary Jane," Officer Hill started, but Officer Stacy cut her off.

"Why do want to you stay with me?" he asked.

_Because you don't smell like Before_. Em Jay folded her arms across her skinny chest. "You want to work with my dad, you have to take me."

"That's not how it works,," said Officer Hill softly. "We need to find you someplace to live. A family, who will take you in."

Em Jay jabbed her thumb in Officer Stacy's direction. "He said he had a daughter my age."

"Officer Stacy has a job to do. The agency will find you a family who can take care of you." She shook her head, her sleek dark bob falling across her cheeks like silk

Em Jay once knew someone who had soft, shiny hair like that. But that was Before. She took a step back, seeking the reassuring bulk of Officer Stacy. "No," she repeated. "It's him or I walk." She'd heard the line on a television series. Lifting her chin even higher, she stared down Officer Hill.

"All right," Officer Stacy said suddenly. "I'll take you to my home. My daughter Gwen will be happy to have some company her own age."

"George!" Officer Hill exclaimed. "That's against regulations. You're close to making captain. Don't blow it. She'll be fine with Children's Services."

"It's just until we can find a more permanent situation," he said. "Right, Mary Jane?"

Em Jay could tell when negotiations were at an end and she was being offered the best deal possible. She shrugged. "Sure."

He knelt down so he could look her in the eye. "And you will cooperate?" he asked.

She liked his cool blue gaze. He wasn't trying to pull something over on her, or treat as if because she was a kid, she had no brain. He smelled like the life she knew, of cigarettes and dark golden whisky and rumbled clothes put on from the floor. "What do you mean by cooperate?" she shot back.

He smiled. "Do as I say when I tell you. Don't encourage Gwen to do things you two shouldn't. And tell me everything you've heard your father say about the Kingpin." He held out his right hand to be shaken. "Deal?"

She shook it as hard as she could. "Deal."


End file.
